


can't fight against the youth

by Sour_Idealist



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Canon-Typical Politics, Gen, Or Possibly Slightly Less
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sour_Idealist/pseuds/Sour_Idealist
Summary: Over the course of his first six months as the heir-apparent to the Ethuveraz, Idra learns a great deal of his uncle the Emperor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jenn_Calaelen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenn_Calaelen/gifts).



> To Jenn_Calaelen: happy Yuletide! You asked for a story about Idra, and I tried to touch on as much of what you spoke about as you could: Idra's relationship to the idea of being emperor, his political awareness, his relationship with his sisters, and what he wants to do with his life. Vedero snuck in there at some point, too. This story cost me blood, sweat, and tears to a degree disproportionate to its length, but they were all educational, and I'm very glad to have written it. I can only hope you are also happy to receive it.

The first time the archduke Idra Drazhar set eyes on his last uncle was at the oaths of loyalty, crowded in with what seems like half the court. He kept tight hold of Ino’s hand, and kept his other hand settled carefully on Mireän’s shoulder. It wasn’t as if he could lose them, not really, for all of the crowd gathered here would recognize the princesses, but – they would be frightened.

It occupied much of his mind, along with the signs of tears on Aunt Vedero’s face and the accustomed bustling self-importance of Chavar. He was focused, too, on keeping himself and his sisters away from the icy, offended attention of his mother, and so it took him a moment to realize that their new emperor was entering the chamber, and to look up.

Idra’s quiet gasp was lost in the rustle of silk and kneeling feet.

It was not the cloud-grey skin of his uncle that surprised Idra; if anything, he would have expected Edrehasivar to bear more of the shading of Barizhan in his appearance. But Edrehasivar VII was a scant two inches taller than Idra, where Varenechibel always towered; and Edrehasivar was as slight as Ino had been during her terrible fever.

Idra would have to ask Leilis Athmaza if the relegated went  _hungry._ Surely, surely such basic things were provided to them still?

Ghostlike though he seemed, Edrehasivar stood straight and accepts each pair of bowing hands with a careful, thoughtful grace that Idra liked. Certainly it seemed more like something Idra might, himself, someday achieve than did the high-handed ease with which his grandfather had accepted such honors. Nor did he stand like a statue, as Idra had half-thought he might; he inclined his head to listen to each oath, and whispered something to the prince of Thu-Athamar that made the man exhale, slow and shaky, upon his return to the crowd. It was only because Idra was next to the prince that he caught it at all.

When Idra laid his hands in his Emperor’s palms, he found dry, ice-cold fingers and looked up to learn that Edrehasivar had a thoughtful, intent gaze which studied Idra as Leilis would study a new and unknown book. Idra bowed his head, and said “…and all of my works show my fealty to you, Serenity.”

Edrehasivar inclined his head, just slightly, in acknowledgement before Idra retreated. He crooked one finger to Mireän, jolting her into motion. Edrehasivar lowered his hands just slightly, so she did not have to reach up quite so far, and Idra was suddenly sure of his oath.

* * *

“Lord Chavar has been… displeased, lately,” Idra remarked, settling into the polished mahogany desk where he studied the business of the realm with Leilis Athmaza. “With everything.”

“You were very politic until the last phrase,” Leilis said, pulling out his own chair. “Yes, the Lord Chancellor has seemed _displeased_ with the events of the last month. It seems that the Emperor is… not entirely what the Lord Chancellor expected.”

“Did he know much of the archduke, before his coronation?”

“We do not believe the Lord Chancellor had ever met him,” Leilis replied, ears flicking. “We have no doubt that he – Lord Chavar, that is – knew the age of the archduke, as could only be expected, as well as his heritage, and where he had been raised, and what was known of the Empress Chenelo during her time at court.”

“And no more.”

“And no more,” Leilis agreed. “However, that may not be entirely true, for we suspect that he also took Varenechibel’s views on his fourth wife and his fourth son as unvarnished truth. Which, it must be said, the Lord Chancellor cannot be _blamed_ for believing the word of his emperor.”

Idra pursed his lips at his tutor’s emphasis on _blamed,_ recalling a lesson on actions which trod carefully a line of technically acceptable behavior. “And Varenechibel was not close to Edrehasivar?”

Leilis’s ears flattened, but he answered, as he always did: “He was not. We do not believe they were in contact overmuch.”

Idra drummed his fingers – quietly – against the desk. “So Lord Chavar would have expected very little,” he said.

“Neatly put.” Leilis shifted a slide rule – unused today, hopefully – a precise fraction of an inch to the right. “We believe Lord Chavar may have expected… a man more open to advice, and more inclined to follow the course of action laid out by Varenechibel. Edrehasivar has, thus far…” He paused. “Let us say that Edrehasivar has begun a course at a sharply divergent angle from his father’s. Nor does he seem to consider this divergence a flaw to correct. We believe he has not advanced above a handful of ideas which have _not_ offended the dignity or the sensibilities of Lord Chavar.”

Idra, startled, said, “But that – I had thought you thought Edrehasivar a good emperor!” He remembered again Edrehasivar’s oath-taking, the slow inclination of the wrists that brought his hands closer to Mireän’s and Ino’s.

Slowly, Leilis stood, settling his hands on the edge of his desk. “Firstly, Prince Idra,” he said, “it is not for us to declare the fitness or unfitness of an emperor. Second, to indicate himself unfit to rule so soon after his coronation, an emperor would need to be truly and blatantly contemptuous of his throne and his duties – despoil the maidens of the court, for example, or order executions as if ordering a dish displeasing to him removed from the table, or give away treasures of the court as petty bribes. And finally,” he added, straightening, “simply because Lord Chavar dislikes a policy does _not_ mean it is a bad one, or a sign of a bad emperor. Lord Chavar is not the Emperor, and it would be no suitable thing for him to dictate the fate of the Elflands, which is the only way he could agree with every policy set forth. And therefore, it is necessary and a sign of rightness that at least _some_ of Edrehasivar’s policies should discomfit Lord Chavar.”

“But should all but a handful of Edrehasivar’s policies discomfit the Lord Chancellor?” asked Idra, who had just weeks ago written a lengthy and punitive essay on the importance of attention to detail. To his surprise, Leilis suppressed a smile.

“It has been many years since Lord Chavar was significantly discomfited,” he said. “It may be the gods are now righting a balance.”

* * *

Vedero opened her door at precisely the moment arranged by pneumatic.

“Idra!” she said, nonetheless, with the warmth of family. “Come in.” Idra complied, and it took all the patience he had accumulated in his year at court to keep his question behind his lips while he sat, and while tea and cakes were parceled out. (This did not prevent him from grabbing several of the lavender kind.)

“Is it true, Aunt Vedero?” he asked her, as soon as they were settled. Vedero tilted her head back.

“Has thy mother sent thee to inquire?”

“I do not think my mother would be so subtle as that,” Idra said. “No, I came because I wanted to know, and to speak to thee about it. Is it true? Edrehasivar will not arrange thy marriage?”

“Not for a year,” she said, slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “It will not be never. It must come eventually, surely. But he has said he will not even begin to negotiate on the topic until I have had a year to – to recover.”

Idra opened his mouth, closed it, and took a gulp of his tea. “Was that – was it wise?”

“No,” she said simply, and took a decisive bite of her own pastry. “No, it was not.” She chewed, swallowed, eyes fixed somewhere across the room. “It will give him time to learn the depth and range of the opportunities that my marriage can provide, I suppose. And it will allow time for my father’s plans to fade from memory so that he can start anew. It has those advantages. But the opportunities he loses…”

“Is that why he did it, then?” Idra asked. “Did he consider it worth the loss of opportunity?”

“No,” she said, slowly setting her cake down. She picked at it, carefully peeling apart layers of dough. “No, he did not, which I suppose is fortunate, for it would be a foolish strategy. No, he… I think he truly did it because I did not wish to be married.”

“Thou did not?” Idra blinked. “I – I did not know.”

“There was little to be gained from arguing with my father,” Vedero said, softly. “A marriage was an inevitability, for all must discharge their duties to the house and to the crown, and marriage was the duty that I would be called upon to perform. So it is and shall be. And still shall be, in a year’s time.”

“But not for a year,” Idra said.

“Indeed.” Abruptly, she stood, crossing to the desk on the side of her sitting room – her correspondence desk, not the desk where she calculated the orbits of stars, which Idra had only twice been permitted to see. “This letter is all that he sent to me, by way of instruction or demand.” She handed Idra a single sheet of paper, its creases worn with unfolding and unfolding. The wax seal was crumbling, half-melted, but distinct enough that Idra paused to inspect the strange twining lines of the signet pressed there. He had not seen it so close before.

“There is naught of note hidden in the wax,” Vedero said. It sounded sharper than her smile suggested, and it did not fret Idra overmuch; Vedero might become pointed or waspish, but never worse, and she always took care not to frighten the girls. Obedient to her suggestion, however, he opened the letter along its worn lines again.

_Study the stars. – M_

He read the words three times, considering, before he handed the letter back.

“It seems…” he started, and floundered in the sudden end of the sentence. “It seems kind.”

“It may not be,” she said, crisply folding the letter up again. “It may be an attempt to curry favor, or he may have some arcane plan I have not yet seen – or someone else may, and have advised him thus.”

Idra bit his lip. “I suppose it is improbable, at that. That he’s just being… nice.”

“And yet I find myself considering the possibility,” she said, sighing. “It is not a kindness that an emperor can afford to indulge.”

“Aunt Vedero…” Idra turned his teacup back and forth in its saucer. “Art thou not glad of his choice?”

Vedero sighed, folding her hands together in her lap. “I am,” she said, softly. “But, Idra. My happiness matters less than the safety and security of the Elflands.”

“And will the Elflands crumble if thou art not married this year?”

“My marriage is a tool to secure them,” she not-quite-answered. “Things are….unsettled, at this time. He should be using every resource available to him to settle them into place again, not alienating Dach’osmer Tethimar only in order to be kind.” And then, with a sudden tightening of her hands: “But may the goddesses forgive me, I am grateful not to be marrying Eshevis Tethimar. I am grateful to have my studies a while longer.”

“Well,” Idra said. “I am glad some good has come of it, anyway.” A thought stirred, out of the mists of the future, and he bit his lip. “Will… is it likely Edrehasivar will arrange my betrothal, when the time comes? And Ino’s and Mireän’s, when they come of age?”

“Yes,” she said, “and perhaps more… directly than Varenechibel would have, now that thy father…” Her hands tightened on her knees, and Idra had to swallow too.

“Now that I am without other guardian,” he said, voice rasping a little. Vedero stood, suddenly, and stepped across the space between them to pull him close to her, holding him as she had not done since his thirteenth birthday. He held Ino and Mireän, often, at least in the privacy of the nursery, but no one else held him like this, and he buried his face in the soft laurel-scented velvet of her shoulder and clung tight to her in turn.

“I miss him,” he admitted into the soft fabric, blinking back tears. It seemed a foolish thing to admit, but –

“I know,” Vedero said, not at all like an adult comforting to a child but simply as if she wished for him to know she knew. “I know. I miss my brother.”

They stayed that way for a long, stretching moment before Idra pulled back, dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Vedero extracted a handkerchief from the depths of her gown and dried her own, although Idra suspected it was more a gesture of companionship.

“I was thinking,” Idra managed, “only that… though he may have been unwise, this doesn’t make me any _more_ nervous about my marriage. A little less, even.”

“You have at least two years before the issue arises,” Vedero said. “Edrehasivar may be more… prudent, by then.”

Idra wasn’t sure if it was a reassurance or a warning.

* * *

“Ino,” Idra said, settling onto one of their beds in the new, echoing rooms of the Alcethmeret which belonged to them now. “Miree. How much do you understand about what happened?”

Ino was clutching a pillow; Mireän was curled into a ball, her hands slung around her knees. “Nothing,” she said, peeking over her arm. “They just woke us up and brought us here and said that the servants would bring our things in the morning and someone would explain and we should all go back to sleep. I don’t know how we were supposed to do that. It’s all strange and _new._ ”

“There are spiderwebs in the ceiling,” Ino said. “What if there’s poison spiders?”

“There are no poison spiders in the Alcethmeret,” Idra promised. “The Emperor lives here.” This was only a brief distraction from the greater issue, and perhaps it was redundant to be achingly, bitterly furious with his mother for leaving him with the immense duty of explaining this to his sisters. He was furious anyway. “Mama did a – a bad thing. A terrible thing, and so we can’t stay with her anymore.”

Ino’s eyes were wide, but it was Mireän who asked, “What did she do?” Both of them looked nearly grey with weariness and sorrow, but neither seemed shocked at all. Idra’s mouth twisted.

“She tried to make me emperor instead of Edrehasivar,” he said. “Not to kill Edrehasivar, only to depose him, but it is still treason. She broke her promises – do you remember those promises, when we all had to wear our best clothes and memorize the words to say?”

Slowly, the girls both nodded.

“But that was – Suler said those were a _sacred oath_ ,” Ino said, the last two words running together because she had not learned them separate from each other, only as one thing. “She said it was a promise to the gods as well as an emperor. Does that mean the gods are going to – to _smite Mama?_ ”

“I… don’t think the gods are going to do anything to Mama,” Idra said, making a mental note to ask Suler where Ino was hearing about smiting. It was not a common point of Ethuverazheise religion, and although he knew Suler told the girls Barizheise stories, Ino didn’t need more ideas to frighten her. “But Edrehasivar is going to have to punish her, and I – I don’t think we’re going to be able to see her again. We can’t. Because it’s such a bad thing, that she did, that she can’t be around us in case she tries to make us traitors too.”

“Art thou in trouble?” Ino asked. “Thou saidst she wanted to make thee emperor. Art thou going to get in trouble for that?”

“No,” Idra said, “because she never asked me about it, or told me about it, until she – until she was already trying to depose Edrehasivar, and he made her tell me. If she asked me I would have told her not to do it. I don’t want to be emperor, and it’s – she broke the law. It was wrong.”

“Thou saidst,” Mireän interrupted, “that Mama wanted to make thee emperor but she didn’t want to kill Edrehasivar. How could that work? We can’t have _two_ emperors.”

“She wanted Edrehasivar to do something called _abdicating,”_ Idra said, taking a deep breath and trying to root himself in the pattern of definitions, of explaining the concepts of the court to his little sisters. “An emperor can abdicate. It means to say that he is not emperor anymore, because he doesn’t want to be, and he’s going to go somewhere else and make his heir be emperor now.

“But doesn’t he make promises too?” she asked. “That’s what Suler said the coronation was, that we had to go and promise to be good and then we had to watch him promise to be a good emperor. Isn’t that breaking a promise?”

“Ah.” Idra swallowed. “Well, it’s more… the emperor promises to be a good emperor instead of a bad emperor, mostly.”

“But he said _until he died,_ ” she protested. “How, if he isn’t dead?”

“Emperors have abdicated before,” Idra said, closing his eyes. “It can happen.” (The paleness of Edrehasivar’s – Maia’s – skin, the tremor in his hands, the way he stood before Sheveän with his head high and that despairing, iron-hard look in his eyes – the way Sheveän  had snarled. Maia had not expected peaceful abdication, and of all the abdicating emperors Idra had heard of and had studied, none had lived to great age.) “Listen, ‘tis very late. I am sure Edrehasivar will come to speak to us in the morning, and he can answer your questions again.” It seemed a coward’s choice, but he was running out of answers.

* * *

“Idra,” Vedero said, stepping into the tiny sitting room appended to the Alcethmeret’s nursery. “Hello.”

“Hello, Aunt Vedero,” Idra said, standing. “Thou asked to come by?”

“Yes,” she said. “I want to speak to Ino and Mireän, too, after their lessons, but I wanted to know – how dost thou? Art thou well, after – after everything? Art thou sleeping?”

Idra blinked. “I – sit _down,_ Aunt Vedero, please.” She did, twisting her hands in her skirt. “I – I haven’t had trouble sleeping, overmuch. It has been… busy, becoming accustomed to the new rooms. Miree started searching all the cobwebs for spiders to prove to Ino that there weren’t any, and Suler had to bathe her three times in a day. She got people to close up the rooms that were still messy, after that.”

Vedero smiled, quick and fleeting. “She’s brave, your sister. But I asked of thee. It was thee who prevented the coup, after all. Thou art the one – but thou mayest not wish to speak of it.”

Idra bit his lip. “It was… I knew that Mother was not always.” There was no good word. “She could be _awful._ But I never imagined anything like this. She would never have done it if Father were still alive, I think.” He stopped. “That… well, of course she wouldn’t, that’s a stupid thing to say.”

“It is no such thing,” Vedero said, with quiet firmness. “I know what thou meant. She would never have done a thing such as this if – if Nemolis were with us still. He could bring her to her senses. And I suppose her grief cannot have helped.”

“ _I’m_ grieving too,” Idra burst out, “and I didn’t commit _treason._ ” He stopped, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t shout.”

“Shout if thou wishest,” Vedero said, folding her hands. “Thou hast earned a little shouting after all this.”

Idra sighed. “I don’t want to shout. I just…” _Not Idra,_ Maia had said through chattering teeth. _He has no part of this, he is loyal to us._ “I stopped it when I knew, but surely some emperors would execute me anyway. Could do it easily. She tried to put me in his place – it might even not be wrong.”

“Yes, it would,” Vedero cut in. “Emperors have done terrible things, and have avoided danger by doing terrible things. Besides, to be without an heir – no. I will not debate the merits of thy death. Were Edrehasivar calling for thy death, _I_ should have risen against him, and to hell with the kindness he has shown me.” She took a deep breath, clutching at the arm of her chair. “Well. It is aside. He has been impolitically kind to me, and I am grateful – and thou didst not think that unjust, I think. If thou canst accept that, accept that he has chosen to deal fairly with thee.” She paused. “And I think he is most likely to deal mercifully with thy mother. There is no need to speak of death.”

“I don’t know if I could be so lenient, in his place,” Idra whispered, curling his fingers into the palms of his hands. “I do not know. And that is why – that is part of why –” He stopped. “I couldn’t take his throne. I could not let my mother do it. He is the rightful heir, and I swore an oath, and to take the throne from him would alone have made me unfit to be emperor. But even if he were to – to die tomorrow, or to abdicate freely, I do not think I would be fit. Not now. I don’t think I could be as brave as him.”

“Ah.” Vedero folded her hands together, tip to tip, and regarded the ceiling above Idra’s head. Idra waited. Vedero took her time to answer, when she needed it; he knew this about her. “I think,” she said, “or at least, I suspect, that Edrehasivar may not consider himself particularly fit either. I trust,” she added, her voice sliding sharp, “that thou understandst – I do not say this because _I_ believe he is unfit, and because of this, I have not said this to anyone else before. I only mean that we are not always the best judges of our own capacity. That being the case, Edrehasivar is alive and holds his throne, thanks most of all to thee. And that, I think, thou mayest set upon the scales of thyself, and it balances out a great many doubts.”

“Thinkest so, truly?” Idra asked, and flushed when his voice cracked.

“I do not say things I think are untrue when I can avoid it,” Vedero said, “and I can always avoid it with thee.” She reached across the table to squeeze his hand, once and sharply. “Thou’rt not unworthy to be emperor, should it come to pass.”

* * *

The day lessons resumed after the Winternight Ball was the first day that Idra was in the classroom _before_ Leilis Athmaza.

“Your Highness,” the tutor said, closing the door behind him. Idra stood, hands braced on the table.

“Athmaza,” he said. “We have been thinking, since Winternight.”

“Oh?” Leilis raised his eyebrows, and pulled out a chair; he paused, hands on the back of it, and remained standing. “Of what have you been thinking?”

“There have been two attempts to usurp our uncle the emperor,” Idra said. “ _Two._ Against the lawful and anointed emperor of the Elflands, the trueborn forth son of Varenechibel IV.”

“There have,” Leilis said. “It is deplorable.” A question hovered in the words.

“He isn’t just the rightful emperor,” Idra said. “He is a _good_ emperor. We know you think so, Athmaza, even if you haven’t said so, and he’s doing – wonderful things. Wondrous things. A bridge over the Istandaartha! And his nohecharo –” Idra broke off there, thinking of Miree’s wide-eyed wonder on the rare occasions when she glimpsed Kiru Athmaza. “We wish,” he said, collecting himself, “to make some sort of gesture to the court which might demonstrate our support for our uncle. Unmistakably.”

“None of what happened was your fault, Idra,” Leilis said, slow and measured. “Least of all this second attempt, which was in no way done in your name.”

“We know that.” Idra paused. “Well. We do not feel it was ours to prevent. But we wish to do what we may to… discourage any third attempt.” Idra swallowed. “He truly does have our support. He has _my_ support, as a man, based on what you have taught me. I want to do what I can to help.”

“Ah.” Slowly, Leilis lowered himself into the chair. “Sit, please, and we will discuss strategy.” His voice carried the calm authority of a teacher, and Idra pulled the chair out, realizing as he did that his hands shook.

“This may be less dramatic than you have in mind,” Leilis continued, “but the simplest thing is this: be on good terms with your uncle the emperor, and let it be seen that it is so. Visit him, when there is time; speak well of him among your friends; walk with him when you can.” Idra opened his mouth around an objection, and Leilis continued, “It seems like a little thing, but it is not. It is laying the stones of a foundation.”

Idra exhaled, leaving his complaint unvoiced. “Very well,” he said. “But we do wish to build on that foundation. How may we do so?”

“We shall have to find some more books,” Leilis said. “And it seems likely that this will pre-empt the lessons which we had planned for this morning, but those can be made up. Let us make our way to the library, then, and turn our attention to the records of the court of Edrenechibel VII…”

* * *

“Idra,” said Maia Drazhar, emperor of the Elflands, gesturing Idra into the informal dining room of the Alcethmeret. “I thank thee for dining with me tonight.”

“I thank thee for thy invitation,” Idra replied, resisting the urge to bow – Maia was addressing him informally, so it would not be appropriate. “I hope thou wast not put to difficulty in inviting me?”

“Not at all,” Maia assured him, settling into a seat. Idra followed suit. “Arbelan Drazharan usually dines with me, this night of the week, but tonight she is indisposed. That is to say – I would have found a time that thou might join me, regardless, but this one made itself easily available.”

“I understand,” Idra said, smiling a little. “I hope Arbelan Drazharan is not too unwell?”

“She has a cold of the head,” Maia said. “She informs me that it is merely an unpleasant inconvenience, but she does not wish to spread the contagion, and in any case it has made her irritable and unfit for polite company, or, she says, for any company that is not bringing her hot honeyed tea in silence.” His mouth twitched around a smile.

“Candid of her,” Idra said, smiling in turn, and the conversation turned to their few mutual acquaintances of the court. Maia had an interest in Ino’s and Mireän’s doings that alone would have secured Idra’s personal loyalties as well as his political ones; in turn, Maia offered stories of his time with Csethiro. He startled every time his account of the dancing lessons made Idra laugh – a small start, barely more than a widening of the eyes, but present. It might have troubled Idra, had Maia not smiled each time too.

“So,” Maia said at last, over a fruity sorbet which the emperor barely seemed inclined to touch. “I believe that thou wishest to speak to me of a specific matter?”

“I did,” Idra said, and swallowed a mouthful of sorbet to prepare himself. “I spoke to thee, before, of how I do not wish to be emperor.”

“Thou didst,” Maia acknowledged, dipping his head. “Though have begun to find a balance of sorts with the throne of the Ethuveraz, I would not wish it upon thee.”

“I know.” Idra drew a line through his sorbet. “And I still do not wish to be emperor, but I have begun to think, lately… I admire what thou hast been doing as emperor. Truly. And I have spoken with Leilis Athamaza, and made a study of the past. In particular, the two of us have looked at historical relatives of emperors who have held material positions in the government.”

Maia went very, very still.

“Recently,” Idra continued, his throat drying in spite of the sorbet, “members of the Drazhada who have held separate appointments have wielded little more power than they would have as merely members of the Drazhada, nor earned their appointments by any means save being Drazhadeise. But it has not always been so, I think?” Slowly, Maia tilted his head, setting down his spoon. “I’m not asking for anything now,” Idra continued hurriedly. “Nor soon, nor for any sort of promise. But I would like – if thou art amiable, I would like to hold a position in support of the emperor, someday. In support of thee. I would like to begin to work towards it. To discover what I should learn, and how it can be something that is clearly earned in truth.”

“I see,” Maia said slowly. “Idra. I am…” He swallowed, hard, several times. “I thank thee,” he said at last, his voice shockingly rough. “I thank thee for thy faith, and for thy offer. Truly. It means… it means a great deal to me.”

Idra felt the flush begin at his flaring ears and crawl across his face. “It is…” he started, and ran up short. It seemed only fair, perhaps, that he and Maia should be equally silent. “I thank thee for thyself,” he said, at last, and nearly bit his tongue off. “That is to say, I thank thee for… I thank thee for what thou hast done. I wish to be a part of it.”

“I would be honored to have thee, in due time,” Maia said, settling his hands together: palm to palm and tip to tip. Idra resolved to ask him about the gesture another time. “I confess, I have little idea of what the next steps might be, but I shall speak to Lord Berenar of it, and to Csevet as well, and we shall see what can be done. I suspect they will be in touch with Leilis Athmaza, and between the group of us, we will work out how thou canst begin.”

“Thank you,” Idra said again, feeling a smile grow and blossom into a grin.

“Say rather, thou’rt welcome,” Maia said, “for thou hast offer’st me thy service.”

“I shall _not,_ ” Idra said, folding his arms, and startled a peal of laughter from his emperor.

“Then I shall not either,” Maia said, smiling, “and we will reach an impasse.”

“We have sorbet to hold us over during the impasse,” Idra retorted, using the plural as Maia had done, and Maia smiled at him and picked up his spoon.

“That we do,” he said.


End file.
